Begging to Differ

It might be humorous, though in a serious way, that, within the New Testament, itself, is evidence for Jesus's lack of divinity. It's during his trial, when Pilate asks him if he's who he says he is. And he answers, 'It's you that calls me that.' And then one of the High Priests says, 'We all heard you saying it yesterday.' And Jesus says, 'I was quoting you when I said that!' He tried to get out of it, by the sound of it. And imagine how desperate he must have been to cry out, 'Fine! Let's compromise! I'm actually a witch. Okay? Does that satisfy you? And we don't crucify witches, right? Please. I'd rather burn...' And it might well have been true that everyone around him exaggerated about him and created a myth around him, for which he ended up brutally and sadistically executed. So went the life of Brian, at least. Perhaps Monty Python noticed the same detail I did. But this is all within the context of the gospels, and some of us are more informed than others on the quality of gospel truth. I'm just saying that it is realistic, in this regard. One would do all they could to avoid crucifixion.
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For the Record

I'm not into anime either. I enjoy well drawn cartoons of girls, but I try to imagine their human incarnations when I'm fantasizing. That's normal, right? And it's not like I go up to strange girls at the Skytrain and startle them with a leer and a Betty and Veronica magazine opened to a certain page, with my finger pointing to a provocative rendering. Some other freak might do that shit but not me. A friend from a while ago told me a man approached her in the Toronto subway with a deck of playing cards. She was the Queen of Diamonds. I never saw the card but she was a good looking woman.
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Hossenfeffer?

Those brightly coloured uniforms from the nineteenth century made up for the lack of accuracy in rifle shots from that time. (As guns developed, you might notice that uniforms got more and more camouflaged.) It's a well known fact that soldiers returning from the French front in the early 1800's had to be barred for life from attending weddings. A few of them had already went crazy and shot the brightly attired principle celebrants. Oberst Redl is a film set later in that century. It's about a Ruthenian born, military social climber. Except his jacket is darker in colour than you would expect. He is put in charge of an investigation and uncovers an act of treason. But his commanding officer is dissatisfied with the real culprits. 'Can't be an aristocrat, of course. And it can't be a Jew because we had too much trouble with the Farbstein incident. I'm afraid that just leaves a Ruthenian. You're Ruthenian, aren't you, Redl?' In the Canadian remake, Colonel Edsel, set in present day Canada, this scene is almost identical. 'Can't be a hockey player, of course. And it can't be a Frenchman because we had too much trouble with the LeBeau incident. No, I'm afraid it must be a Newfoundlander and/or a Labradorian. You're from Newfoundland, aren't you, Edsel?'
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Is Mark Twain Damned?

Letters from the Earth is a charming tale by Mark Twain. It's a quick read. Except for the introductory paragraph, it is all in the words of Satan, the angel, who has been sent by God to descend to Earth and observe humanity. Through this character, Twain was able to let loose his fierce wit upon the church and upon people in general. According to Satan, the angels are having sex all the time and partying. He points out the glaring contrast between this and the often boring routine of a Sunday mass or sermon. (The mass was only forty-five minutes tops. Some of those services, though, I've heard...) This means a lot of church goers are way off - and it isn't surprising when the odd one succumbs to drugs and the street life. Just don't read it out loud with a baseball cap on because some one might see you.
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Meaning Less

I never saw the movie, but I admit I was amused by the Which Mean Girl Are You? quiz enough to take it and find out which one I was. It was maybe earlier this year. I've just received another invitation to take the quiz and I'm refusing it. I can't remember which one I was and I don't want to take it again because I'm afraid I'll be a different one this time.
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To Serve Man

I think it's a bad idea to give machines personalities. The first thing they do is go on an ego trip over their superior thinking and often indestructible physiques. The rest is inevitable. Machines serve us most efficiently when they have no personality. Any personality, however well intended, can only interfere with their functions. I already don't like the direction they've taken with the programming of their voices. The tone should be flat. I don't like the artificial emotion they've tried to put in with that inflection. I find it repulsive. And dangerous. (However, I won't lose any sleep over it.)
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Unbeatable Remedy

The satisfaction of an intense workday comes when you realize that you lack the energy to rebel and find tranquility in your vanquished condition. It leads to creative thoughts. We are at our most creative, according to what I learned, when we are in a semi-conscious state. This can be achieved more readily by running the body through vigorous disciplines. The flood of chemicals which enable your body to overcome physical hardships and to clear stubborn obstacles, after the work is done, may carry on in an almost intoxicating fashion. I've heard those endorphins are similar to opiates and are received by the same receptors in the brain. Augmenting this with additional chemical intoxicants would either boost your creativity or send you into all-out subconsciousness, from which you'd likely remember nothing.
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Correction

I thought Disney never died but was cryogenically frozen right up until I just checked it on Wikipedia and discovered that he not only died but was cremated. Apparently the suspended animation tale was an urban legend. But the rest of the myth, that his frozen corpse lay under the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland, never reached my ears.
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Now I'm Informed

I was forced into watching a newscast by some people around here. I only watch the news when I need to take the focus of my wrath away from my immediate surroundings. Story Number Two repeated the same line as I've already heard twenty-five times since 1988. An athlete took performance enhancing drugs. But this network went the extra mile and included the athlete's statistics and professional background. How thorough. Bears were found roving about freely in a grow op that was discovered by police. The bears were friendly and playful. This, according to the police, means that they will have to be destroyed. Looks like Alberta is getting covered by a cloud of smoke. Might be bad for the joggers. A couple militant non-smokers are campaigning to take smoking scenes out of movies. I wonder if they're from Alberta. The U.S. Army has withdrawn from Iraq. It happened so smoothly that you'd almost think they could have done it any time in the last six years.
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Homeland Social Security

If it hasn't already been made clear, I love my country. It's big and spacious and rich and clean and beautiful. But the thing I like most of all about Canada is my freedom to put down my country. Canada would probably be the country chosen by an extraterrestrial who was kicked off his home planet. (And given a choice of where to be exiled.) It's the only country that's not all high on itself and ready to crush anyone who thinks otherwise. I like that. Lets me speak my mind. Other countries might accuse the government here of wimping out on patriotism. On the contrary, I think it takes more balls to say FUCK PATRIOTISM. While our government hasn't ever come out and said this, their actions - and inactions - speak loudly enough to support it. When you hear me ranting about things like outrageous rent, overpriced booze and smokes, coddled derelicts, suffocating bureaucracy, overpriced and crappy internet service, language barriers, and so forth, what I'm really saying is I love Canada.
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Shirkplace Victims

These lazy types who think their half-assed work is only between themselves and their employers are leaving out a third party: their unfortunate customers. I guess it helps them to feel better about themselves.
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What I Learned

Just for fun I typed NYMPHOMANIAC into my last video search. I didn't go past the search page. There was far more enthusiasm among males than among females for this word. A lot of nymphomaniac videos featured males singing and sharing adult[?] humour. Whenever the video was a feminine production, I got a different vibe. I think the ladies see nymphomaniac as another word for whore. It's amazing to think that, where such a wide chasm exists in the sexual mindsets of men and women, any contact in the bedroom would ever be possible. Either that or someone's lying.
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Tra-DI-tion!

One cool thing about having one of those traditional, old tube amps is that they're heavy enough and solid enough to pick them up with one hand, fling them over your head into your right hand, bat it back to your first hand, bounce it high off your head, let it tumble along your spine all the way to your tailbone, boop-boop-be-doop it back up into the air even higher, so that it returns, feet first, to the ground with a resounding 'A' (for amplifier) chord, not quite unlike the sound of a Mac mini rebooting or the last chord of A Day in the Life. But if you try that with one of those modern amps, the wind just catches it and carries it away forever - that's if some crackhead hasn't got to it before you and is carrying it off to the pawnbroker dealership in a brown paper bag.
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Mirth Pangs

I would instruct people to laugh at life, especially when it becomes absurdly difficult. Try to see the humour in it. This is because we can't do much else about it most of the time. And bad things are always going to happen, no matter how perfect we make our political and social systems. People are always going to be upset over something. (That thought is slightly comical on its own.) Laughter can be empowering. Authority figures know this and are threatened by humour. I'm speaking mostly from personal experience, but I'm pretty sure about it. Authority figures are generally serious individuals. Laughter sort of undoes the intended effects of whatever suffering they might have had in mind for you. Such authority might also exist on a smaller scale, such as within the dynamic of a romantic relationship. Try laughing when she's trying to scold you and see what happens. But when you laugh, try to be conscious of how it sounds. It's not quite like smiling, in terms of infectiousness. Some people really need to work on this: people with lung diseases, mad scientists, people who laugh at wipeouts on music recordings, laughing at one's own lame attempts at humour, laughing at other lame attempts at humour, even babies who laugh after they poke you in the eye and make you cry out in pain. These are but a few examples to show that not every laugh is a good laugh.
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What Did You Call Me?

Nice is one of those words that gets used a lot, perhaps to the point where it has lost much of its meaning. For instance, when you see a pro wrestler slingshot himself into the air off the ropes to plant his feet on his opponent's head, you might find yourself shouting, 'Nice!' I won't interfere with your usage of this word. I'm only going to try to explain what I mean by it. My most common use is in keeping with the example from the first paragraph. It is to underscore a particularly outstanding accomplishment of some kind. This accomplishment can be either creative or destructive. It just has to be outstanding. My next use is in reference to a person or an act of a person, as in 'nice guy' or 'nice move'. This is where the confusion starts for me. Definition is important here. A lot of people see wimps as nice people. I don't. They encourage bullies. And nice guys can be dangerous. Look at those smooth talking sales people. Look at those charming womanizers. Those politicians. They say all the right things at the right time. They're so nice! And you know who else is supposed to be nice? The Antichrist. It says so in the Bible. Look it up if you don't believe me. It's in Apocalypse or Revelation - whatever it's called. It says something like how everyone will be sucked in by the Antichrist because he has a pleasant voice and speaks in almost fully framed sentences with no cuss words.
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I'd Rather Stand

I had an argument with a friend about torture's usefulness in extracting information from prisoners. She thought it was effective, but I had to clear up what she may have meant to say. It is useful in getting prisoners to say what you want. Anything you want. That's not necessarily useful - at least, not in a progressive way. By that I mean a totalitarian regime could use it to fill their arrest quotas and for propaganda to strike fear in the hearts of the population. When a captured soldier appears on the enemy side, you might notice in him a sudden sympathy for his captors and for their cause. But does he mean it? A lot of the early Christians recanted in the face of the fearful interrogations of ancient Rome. Later on the Inquisition started did it to anyone who refused to believe in Christ. Torture is the ultimate faith tester. The new techniques are subtler, more psychological than physical, or even psychological to the point of having a physical impact, such as that which might happen to a naked person in a cell with a large, trained, military Rottweiler. Music is used now, too. Hard rock is used in modern army bases. And there's a special type of tune which I find most asphyxiating. Torture's all around you if you look for it. It's in the pukey brown colour of a 1972 Plymouth Fury. It's in multilevel public plazas when the escalator breaks down. It's in poorly planned parades; traffic backed up for miles, honking their horns as batons twirl past them unsynchronized...
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Shady Glade

Both Robin Hood and Rocket Robin Hood would have been in trouble if King Richard had caught them poaching his deer. It is in this respect that the myth may depart from the historic fact. The penalty for poaching the king's deer was blinding and/or castration. That's why I don't believe that myth. Can you honestly picture King Richard? 'Oh! So you're the famous band of merry men! How well nourished you all look! How sprightly you leap and bound through the woods on your trips back and forth from the highway!'
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Planned Convalescence

In the world of the Flintstones, instead of making appliances that fall apart sooner, they sell clones of trained animals with much shorter lifespans. 'Wilma? This dishwasher's breaking down again. Do you want me to fix it so it will stop making that wheezing noise? Now, let's see. Where'd I put that sledgehammer? Hold still now, dishwasher...'
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Hearing Voices

After seeing the first Ant and the Aardvark cartoon in roughly thirty-eight years, I may have noticed something new about the voices of these characters. A rabbi was used for the aardvark and Dean Martin was used for the ant - with Alvin from the Chipmunks as the ant's laugh.
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Doing Without

I'm a little sad at the moment. I really want a glow-in-the-dark frisbee. The sun is just setting and the temperature's cooling off. But even if I had one, I'd need a frisbee partner. It wouldn't have to be a dog. It could be someone who could throw it back. I like to set up so it rolls across the windshields of passing cruisers. If you throw it hard enough, you can also pass it clean through a truck with open windows on both sides. But then the other person has to catch it or it doesn't count. Glow-in-the-dark frisbees should retain their luminance long enough to disrupt one film viewing. The larger the theatre, the longer the disruption. Any split bread-bag clips, pushed onto the middle fingertip and flick-launched on an intercept course, should first be treated with acids to make them look like tracers from anti-aircraft guns.
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The Deer Fryer

I don't mind having a movie split into segments sometimes. It's convenient. If you want to see more war in a war movie that has a long beginning in the civilian world, you can skip ahead in roughly ten-minute intervals until you get to the flame thrower scene. (There's a brief encounter with Herne the Hunter leading into it that's quite touching.) The flame thrower scene stands out more this way, allowing you to break it down for further consumption. The clever positioning; keeping the formidable apparatus nearby but just out of range of the enemy; parked near a corner, where you can pop out, aim it and release the flames before your target has time to turn around and shoot you. And, if you'll notice from the slow motion, with a flame thrower, corrections in aim can be made much more easily, simply by being able to follow its flames with your eye to its burning, screaming destination. And, well, when they found themselves in a barbed wire box over a rat infested lake, they probably thought it was fair, at least for the first little while.
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WHY!

Seems like every time I get practising with my computer on, my monitor turns into starfish; these five or so starfish, lying on their bellies in the sand, viewed from a suggestive angle. What is this aquatic fascination out there all about? I can barely find anything on the web about all the legendary voyages of the Calypso, though. They seem good in my memory, at least. Think I'l go back to practising now. The screen saver changed to words and definitions. La la la la. What's this? Splay? To thrust and spread outwards, especially limbs... I'm not making this up, you know. Something to brag about, eh!
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Something to Sing About

I wouldn't be against wise military spending in science. In a twisted way, improvements in national offensive capability find their way down to consumers. In fact, in transportation, we still haven't much outdone the breakthroughs of World War Two. Another advantage to focusing on superior weaponry is that they can be manned by man, woman or child without any measurable loss in destructive output. Each human is equipped to take out ten to fourteen hundred times their own number in every conceivable combat scenario. Babies, too, can be made to learn to shake grenades from the German army surplus store, purchased in keeping with traditionally frugal DND policy, disguised as rattles or rolling pins or bowling pins, and to drop them on the floor - if their hands are strong enough. And, of course, we'd have to make some changes to the kid's songs, like changing the Sugar and Spice song for girls to Lugar and Mace. We're ahead of the rest of the world here in East Van, with that one. We could all play soccer in the park to disguise our war strategy from the Americans - except maybe our American relatives. And when we go camping, we'll bring our backpacks and walkie-talkies. 'This is X-M-Y...Why? Because we love you! 5-5-6...No tricks! calling S-K-E-R-K...O for Ok! W for Why?...' Everyone would know how to climb a wall. And the ones who couldn't could hold the rope at the bottom, on the other side, and still play an important role. They could also operate the heavy machinery more efficiently. Throw an extra howitzer on that lift truck! It'll hold! And everyone would learn how to survive alone against a built up town.
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That Ain't No Mermaid

Here is something I found on a piece of stiff paper while I was cleaning earlier. (Stiff paper let's you cut them out with scissors and make paper dresses for them if you want. It's nice to have the option.) The one in the corner's supposed to be Sputnik. I haven't worked out all of them yet. I hope I haven't been influenced by Gidget movies too much in my drawing. I might need to work on increasing the breast size of the figures I use.
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Indoor Games #1: Curling

I just thought of a fun game for indoor people who are easily amused. Indoor curling. You can play on either the counter top or the floor. Wet it good with something to make it slippery. You can use any number of household objects as curling stones. Coffee mugs work, especially the fat, cylindrical ones - though they might break if they're not made well. The glass receptacle from the coffee machine slides the quietest. Pots are the noisiest. And irons are the most destructive.
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Gidget's Got It

Here's something I learned or relearned tonight. Gidget is not that girl's real name. It's a nickname and it's a cross between girl and midget. And the original Gidget seemed to be blonde. And she liked guys who sang to her as they helped her recover from when they tried to drown her. I learned that they dug big brass sections, those swingin surfers from the late fifties. Perhaps guitar amps had not yet reached a high enough volume level to compete with them. Gidget's name was Francine, but even her parents called her Gidget. And her parrot. She was seventeen, but she was a hit with all the twelve-year-old boys. Meanwhile, her friends were more developed.
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Pushing My Buttons

One thing about buttons, never mind the colour, is that they knew how to make them right when I was a a young lad. They didn't make these fucking stupid, pointless little sensitive spots that you're supposed to press and hold down for three seconds. They made a button so it stuck out from the surface it was on and you damn well knew it when you pressed that button. You felt it and you saw it get pushed in. There was no margin for error in the pushing of buttons - not like today. Whose fucking bright idea was it to make a basic and fundamental part of our lives such a fucking struggle? If I want my god damn monitor on, I have to fondle the damn thing for five minutes to get the button to do its fucking job. If I want to turn my computer on, first I have to locate the on switch, then I have to press it four or five times and I won't know if that even worked until I release and wait three seconds. And, well, it looks tidier, but it doesn't function worth a shit. We're not making any progress when we compromise functionality for style.
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Bears Eat Oats

The best part of the Grizzly Adams pilot is the ending. That's when Nikooma's tribe catches up with him and mistakes Grizzly for his captor. They surround the cabin and try to burn it down with flaming arrows. But then Ben (the bear), awakened from hibernation, goes running out after them, shooting a pistol in the air as he was taught to do by his foster dad. You should see what happens then.
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It's Getting Near Done

Creamed peas on buttered toast makes a satisfying snack when you're starving. It's easy to make, too. You need a can of Green Giant creamed peas, some butter or margarine, and some bread. You need to toast the bread in either your toaster, your oven, or over your garbage can fire. Get it golden brown. You then butter the bread with either butter or margarine. This is a very important step. Slather that stuff on there. Grease it up good. Then you have to heat up your cream peas somehow. Take them out of the can first or you will burn your hand. Once done, pour them conservatively over the buttered toast slices. Garnish with pepper and salt. They are meant to be eaten with a knife and fork, as though they were steaks or pork chops or something else you'd rather be eating. Plus they don't spill all over you when you leave them on the plate.
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Shy of the Lark

One of the books they gave me to read in school, this story about a Jewish kid in World War Two trying to get to Italy, called I Am David, seems to me, in retrospect, a much watered down substitute for Jerzy Kosinski's The Painted Bird. I guess my school wanted to convey the message of The Painted Bird without too many disturbing details. I'm curious to know whose book came first. But something tells me today's young readers would easily handle a book like The Painted Bird when you see the kind of movies they watch and you hear that crazy damn music of theirs. The book has some laughs in it. The kid's living with gypsies. One of them inherits this chest of shiny garments. Then he starts scoring with all the gals. Then some jealous dude sets his treasure chest on fire. Stuff like that. Oh, and there's a sex scene involving a goat and a very bored family. My disappointment with books that shy away from ugly details lies in their failure to lend any credibility to whatever fears their characters may be experiencing. What are you running from, David? Why are you running, David? You have to read Kosinski's book to find out.
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The Sight of Fragrence

Smell is funny. It's invisible, so you have to sometimes guess its presence by the looks on people's faces. In cartoons it's often represented as wavy lines coming out of someone or, in more sophisticated cartoons, as green vapours. Trying to visualize it is challenging. I imagine it would take on a microscopic form. (You have to think microscopic with invisible things that have an impact.) I imagine they would look like little swarms of outhouses or something.
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That's Lifeboats

Lifeboat ethics is something I've given a lot of thought to since the idea was first introduced to me in school. I'm sure we all have our own lists of who should get thrown overboard. We would base it on who we don't like. That's fair. But, we should be careful to dislike people for the right reasons. There should be some objective reasoning to support such serious decision making. I think many of us are biased against those with the appearance of being a burden on the others; an added weight, as it were, tipping the boat treacherously as the waves splash up over the bow in the spot where you put him. Oh! Look at that! He's flying backwards into the sea! But then, someone might ask you why you did that. And you might reply, 'He had a gravelly voice and it looked like he hadn't shaved in a while...' And, hopefully, you're not then told that you just pushed the navigator overboard and forced to try to make it up to everyone present by offering them the late navigator's Fisherman's Friends, which fell out of his pocket. If you're a wise passenger, you'll try to look compliant as you watch the disfavoured get tossed out to drown. And you'll try to blend in, rather than attracting the attention of all those restless hands.
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Just Don't Play It Again

Since I've gotten older, I find I listen to music for more than just excellence. Sometimes I listen for a laugh. And, however misguided my gratitude for these songs might be, I'm always thankful for a laugh. It feels good to laugh. It's one of our more developed emotional responses, too, apparently. Few other animals laugh. Just us and hyenas, I think.
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Was I Supposed to Write This?

It's funny how some people around me think I can't exceed their memory of me - as though I weren't living my life independently here, but, instead, dependent on them, as a character in their world. Every time I come out with another tune, they say, 'That's got to be the last one, though, right?' (Wrong.)
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Mything the Point

It's interesting to see how one childhood myth can be played against another to lend the latter one more credibility. Once a child has reached an intellectual level of some sophistication, it is fine for them to stop believing in Santa Claus. This helps them to feel more grown up and sensible without abandoning their faith in a two-thousand-year-old mouse - I mean - uh - resurrected saviour.
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Canadian European History

The history of Europe, or the history of white people, has a lot of killing in it. A lot of wars and killing all through it. We learn this as children. Killing and riding around in boats into other countries. The Germans started it with sacking Rome. (Rome was a Gypsy empire, which was eventually pushed back and contained into present day Romania.) The Vikings went out and raised hell. Then the Crusaders went over to the Holy Land and killed its inhabitants. Someone showed them gunpowder and they got that working with their church bells just in time for the discovery of America and its inhabitants. All their seafaring, combined with gunpowder, gave them an edge on other, less aggressive civilizations. Pirates were cool once, back when they were gathering up today's principle bank assets in the Western world. I learned it in grade three. Not like the pirates of today. This was back in the 1600's. But the white men had the good sense to point the guns at each other, for the most part, in their mad competitions for global influence. This seemed to largely be the case for the empires of the eighteenth to the twentieth century, with the policy shifting since Hiroshima, Korea, Viet Nam, and, of course, Iraq and Afghanistan - though the last two were more a white man's initiative than his effort. I can't help laughing when I hear the British or Anglo-Americans of today criticizing empire building. We're all done, so no one else better start doing it.
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I'm Killing Me

I was just thinking of different ways of mass killing. Nothing original yet. The obvious ones involve the air we breathe, mostly. But a couple aim at the water supply. Or if we could get the whole world going at it again on the same scale as sixty-five years ago, now, with all the new weapons, it probably wouldn't take too long. I like to think big on these things, myself. Science delivers big. They will locate that special piece in the puzzle that is holding our world together - or, at least our larger, built up, metropolitan areas. I saw this movie where a scientist calmly speculates on the possibility that his group's nuclear test is about to set the atmosphere on fire. Hey, a mass killer's only as good as his tools. And any mass killer with integrity knows to include himself after he has accomplished his goal. Never too late for one last customer.
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Peace At Last

Mass killings, real or made up, interest me. One mass murderer who stands out in my mind is God. No mass killer has yet surpassed God in efficiency - if you take the account in Genesis to be true. He killed everybody. Drowned them. Thanks to the population explosion, some contemporary mass killers rival God's numbers of slain. But they only killed a fraction of the overall population. With God's followers getting their hands on nuclear weapons, who knows if he won't be able to take at least indirect credit for the next major subtraction? Life is cheap for wicked sinners, according to that lot.
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